


All of my love

by Goldragon (thebookhunter)



Series: So long ago and out of sight [8]
Category: Led Zeppelin
Genre: Addiction, Depression, Grief/Mourning, M/M, We went there, am i going to regret this?, an alternate hypothesis, why did jimmy miss the funeral?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:34:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25899781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebookhunter/pseuds/Goldragon
Summary: (I don't even fucking know how to write the summary for this.)Concerning Karac Plant's death, from Jimmy's POV. Being sick and depressed and wrecked by guilt, self-loathing, and fear.
Relationships: Jimmy Page/Robert Plant
Series: So long ago and out of sight [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1700926
Comments: 5
Kudos: 21





	All of my love

**Author's Note:**

> I've held on to this thing for months now. Not sure when it's the right time for something like this.
> 
> A sensitive an issue as it gets. A hard, dark place to go. Written with absolute respect, sympathy, humility, and compassion.

“He said. He would prefer that you. That you don’t attend.”

Jimmy’s grip on the receiver tightens. For a second. Really just a second.

“Of course.”

The long silence at the other end is restless, awkward. Perhaps G expected something else. Something.

“Alright?” he asks.

“Yes, of course.” 

“Alright.”

...

  
  


“Tell him. If he asks. Tell him I understand. Only if he asks.”

...

“Of course.”

___________________________________

_“He’s not attending?_ What the fuck did Robert say?”

“That was Robert.”

...

...

“Alright. Okay. What are we going to say?"

...

"Right." ... "Shit.”

“Yeah. We don’t really need to say anything, do we.” 

“Shit. ... This is... Good God.”

“That’s the situation.”

…

“They’ll fucking crucify him.”

“Can’t be helped. I’m not going to tell Robert that…”

“No, no. Course not. Just… Fuck.”

…

…

“Alright. Well. I should not attend either. Jimmy shouldn't get all the grief.”

(Sigh.) “Bless you, mate.”

...

“Were you hoping I’d say that?”

“I never would have asked.”

...

“Okay. Well.”

…

“Will you tell Maureen…? Gosh.”

“I’ll work something out.”

“Tell her is not for the band. It’s not for the band. Can you tell her that?”

… “She’ll understand.”

…

“Christ.”

…

“Christ. What a disaster.”

______________________________

He told Jones to wait a week before visiting. To get himself in some sort of condition. It wasn’t long enough, obviously, judging from John’s face. Could have spared himself the effort. He just. Can't keep anything down.

John didn’t make a sound when he saw him. Not a word, not an exclamation.

He said thanks for his tea and forgot all about it. It's on the coffee table now, getting cold.

They sit down in silence for a long while.

“How is he.”

Jones seems to pick up and discard a number of answers before he settles on one.

“I have no idea, to be honest.”

...

“You’ve seen him.”

“Yeah.”

...

“Ah.”

Those eyes that can seem so harmless, hard trained at Jimmy, assessing. He wants to curl up and hide his face. Like he's made of glass and everything's out for anyone to see. He's not fit to be seen.

“He needs time," Jones says. "Bonz is working on him. He’ll come round.”

_Leave him alone._

“It’s grief, Jimmy.”

A sarcastic grimace on Jimmy’s face. Hope waived at him like a shiny bauble. Bat it away.

“It’s grief,” good Jonesy insists.

His thoughts aren’t all that clear, let alone his words.

“I’d understand,” he makes himself say. “If he didn’t come back.” Seems like a good thing to say. Generous. No idea if he means it. 

“I bloody wouldn’t. It’s his life!”

The vehement tone startles him. Jones is allowed to have strong opinions on this. His heart is pure. He won't be misunderstood or his intentions second-guessed. He's a good person. He takes all the right things into consideration, and a reasonable, decent opinion comes out at the end.

None of which applies to Jimmy. He can't trust anything about himself. He can't tell the understandable from the unforgivable. Completely lost. No moral balance left at all. Nothing. Razed to the ground. He's afraid to be shocking, appalling, to say horrible things, to do horrible things.

He's not fit to be seen. Not fit to be. Seen.

Jones eyes on him now seem quite wide and terrified.

“Jim. Don’t do this to him. Not you too.”

Jimmy stares, baffled.

_Never thought of it like that, did you. Selfish twat._

Mourning. For what? For whom? Guilt — cold sharp cut. Horrible thoughts. Darting through. Here and gone. Wishing her gone. All gone. Everyone. _Mine, all mine. - You monster.  
_

_(Didn’t mean it like that. Didn’t want those thoughts. I swear I didn’t mean it.)_

“Jim.”

_Monster. You monster.  
_

“Jim. Jim. Hey.”

Had not cried in front of anyone else since he was a child.

_Weak. Coward. Pathetic._

“Jimmy…”

He can’t talk. Doesn’t know what he’d say anyway. What's there to say.

A hand on his shoulder is as much as John can do. Capricorns.

  
  


The weeping takes its course. When Jimmy goes to wash his face, he sees himself in the mirror, and he would break down and start weeping again. _Vain. Selfish. Monster._

Ashamed going back.

He wants to feel the right things. Wants to love him well. Be a good person. He doesn't want those feelings. He didn't want those thoughts. He can’t bloody help it. They just. They’re there.

He’s obviously not a very good person.

 _Monster_. _You monster._

John drinking cold tea with dead eyes. John who missed the funeral to divert some of the hail and brimstone away from Jimmy. Or tried anyway. (Friend?) As it turns out, there’s enough brimstone to go around. They did all get a sizeable share.

They’re puzzled about John, why would he miss it. What could be the reason. He was supposed to be a good egg. 

(Oh, he is. He is. Beyond imagining. Friend?)

They have a shedload of explanations for Jimmy. It makes sense that he'd do something like this. They just have not figured out which particular reason applies, what did the trick. What are you going to do. You reap what you sow.

Silence. 

Sniffing. Feeling sickly. Antsy. It only gets worse from here, and quick. Needs to use. H is the only calm place, the only place he can be. Everywhere else like a bad magician’s sword box. In the darkness, stabbed from all sides, unable to get out.

_Please, leave. Leave me now. I’m sick._

“Pam not expecting you for tea?”

John stares. Not one dumb hair in his head. 

_Reassure him:_ “I heard you.”

Was that not reassuring enough? Jones still staring at him like he wants to bore a hole in Jimmy’s skull.

“You gonna move in and keep watch?” snarks Jimmy. “Then they’ll definitely talk.”

“You’ll be careful.” Cold, hard voice. Cold hard eyes.

…

“I’ll be careful.”

“I swear to you, Page…”

“I’ll be careful.” (“Good to know you care.” - Too sick, too exhausted even for sarcasm.)

Hand on his shoulder again. A hesitating squeeze. Sweet, somehow. Nice going, John. You think that will work? 

Maybe it did. Who bloody knows. It’s little nudges like these that can topple someone over the edge or hold them back at the last minute.

Jimmy cannot say which one applies to him. This doesn’t feel like falling, doesn’t feel like being saved. Still on the edge, then, looking down. 

______________

John is working on him, they say.

_Leave him be, for God's sake_.

Does he ask about me? (Don’t ask. You’re bound not to like the answer.)

_How dare you think of yourself right now. How dare you. Monster._

_They’re right about you. All the things they say. They’re true. Not accurate perhaps, not real, but true._

________________

Maureen’s pregnant.

Oh, the blessed relief, when you know precisely what is the right thing to feel, so clearly, self-evident.

The dream, you called it. That’s what it was, alright. Gone in the morning, like any other. Did you think you were real, you two? If you can’t be by his side at a time like this, how the hell is it real? When was it ever? It was a carnival, and you were nothing but the Carnival King.

The Carnival's over, Jimmy. Masks off. Lights on. It's over. It's done.

__________________

He’s back. All those murmurs. How is he? —Percy’s fine. Same as ever. He’s unsinkable, he is, look at him! — People aren't so much glad for him as they are relieved. Grief is such a tricky thing, isn't it. How do you speak to someone who's been through something like that? How do you even look at them? - Robert knows that. He makes it easy. _You know what?_ _Let's just not._

He dazzles. Stunning. The blinding sun.

But if you squint. His lines are harder. Sharp cut. Like it’s been years. It felt like years.

He smiles at him, and it gives Jimmy a cold shiver. It goes right through him. There's nothing there. Robert wears a mask for the world, always does, and now for Jimmy too. _Cut off. Left out._

_What did you expect._

Jimmy is not sure whether he’s supposed to smile back. Go with it. Pretend. What would make Robert feel better. _I know. I see you. You don’t have to do this with me. I’m here._

_You’re a fucking idiot, Page. You’re here? Fuck off. You’re unable to 'be here' for yourself or anyone else, let alone him._

So he smiles back.

How is he? —Percy’s fine!

_Percy’s dead._

__________________

Boozing from early morning, some hash to pass the day. H in the evening. _Leave me out of it._

Robert is thorough. Never once does he let them see. No-one. Ruthless. Unreachable. Unassailable. A fanatic on a mission. (Put on a costume. Lie. Get them off your back. - _Percy’s fine. He’s fine.)_

With Jimmy he’s friendly. Good humored, even.

_He won’t come cry in your arms. Stop fucking hoping for it. The hell would you do if he did._

Jimmy doesnt have a clue what to do, what not to do, what to say, what not to say. _I don’t know you, my love. Robert, I don’t know you. Where are you. Where have you gone._

The rest are in the middle, as always. Jimmy tries not to catch the looks they trade. Do they talk about them? —Of course they bloody do. For hours, he bets.

John has a beady eye on him. Not quite hostile. _Stay away._ It’s not personal, Jimmy thinks. He’s a loyal man - Not to Jimmy. Strange, but it’s a relief. Robert’s in good hands. 

_Stay away._

Don’t worry, John. Don’t you worry one bit about that.

G has his work cut out for him. The shite people are saying. The press. What’s going to happen now? Is Robert really going to leave the band? Witchcraft and curses. Why did Jimmy not attend? -obvious! Because he’s a heartless bastard! Because he was off his head! Because he did it! Curses! Witchcraft!—It’s an impossible task, trying to keep all that rubbish away from them. Robert _or_ him. No use. But thanks anyway. For Robert’s sake, if nothing else.

Don’t bother with me. Don’t bother. Jimmy’s in a dark box speared by a hundred swords. He’s in a white box where he isn’t at all. Numb. Really don’t bother. He doesn’t feel a thing.

‘Must have done it’. — No, not that. Didn't do that. Did worse.

  
  


___________________

  
  


When it finally arrives, Jimmy wasn’t expecting it anymore. Small, dim, barely there, but. A true smile.

“Alright, love?” Just a whisper. Just for him.

In his eyes, in his voice, for a moment, Jimmy sees it - Robert's immeasurably sad. You can’t see the end of it.

 _But he trusted you with it. Robert_.

When you feel like you can’t love someone more. When it has nothing to do with what they can do for you. When you see how vast they are. Mystery on every side, beyond the horizon. Paths you’ll never get to tread. Entire countries you’ll never even know they’re there. Truly a stranger. Possession is an impossibility. Or full knowledge. But you can be a tourist and still love the place. Not impossible.

As is evident.

  
  
  


______

Making music again. Starting again. Painful. Remember how easy it was the first time? The magic is not there.

This won’t just happen, this time. They’ll have to make it, bit by excruciating bit. Craft it. Hammer at it. Push on with it. A tough climb with no end in sight.

On a good day, Jimmy feels he’s trying with everything he’s got. On a bad day, Jimmy feels nothing.

  
  


__________

He wants a song.

“Don’t want it too sad.”

Jimmy shuts down. _Can’t do this. I can’t. Can’t do anything._

_Useless. Dry. Dead. She can give him a child. I can’t even give him a song._

John Paul Jones the Godsent. Takes over. Joins heads with Bonz and Robert. They work at it. 

Jimmy shuts down. Hands clawing up, stiff, refusing.

His _dad_ can bloody do it. Can pick himself up from the grief and _do_ something with it. 

Jimmy can’t. Can’t do anything for anyone else. Too fucking steeped im his own fucking pain. _Who the hell are you mourning for, Page. What gives you the right to this suffering. To be unable to get over your pitiful selfish self. Woe is bloody you._

_You deserve to lose him. You never deserved to have him in the first place. Look at you. How dare you even wish. Monster._

(I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I want to feel the right things. I wanted to give you your song. I’m so so sorry.)

_Who the hell cares that you're sorry. Who the hell cares what you want. What difference does it make that you try. Only matters what you do. What you don’t do. So, what does that make you?_

_Weak. Pathetic. Useless. Waste of space, waste of air. Should have been you. Why are you still here. How dare you._

_-Oh, making it all about you again, aren't we? Monster. You monster.  
_

___________________________

  
  


Back on the road. The carnival goes on. They take it from town to town. Lead it and ride it. It looks more or less the same. Sounds more or less the same. They all want it to be how it used to be, they all try hard. But they never had to try at all before. 

The Golden God, ultra-condensed. Bigger, better, stronger, more. Fully grown into himself. Perfect. Complete. An idol. Settled into himself. Not reaching for the skies anymore. Moving but not going anywhere. Glorious, but stagnant, playing himself. (Who is that. Who is he.) He doesn’t feel a fucking thing, does he? He doesn’t feel it. He means to fake his way through it.

He doesn't feel it. There's nothing there. (Oh, Robert, Robert...)

He must have his own sword box. Jimmy wonders - is he himself a sword, is he a wound. Is he the bad magician. 

_____________

The swords are being pulled off Jimmy's box slowly, one by one. They hurt coming out too. His wounds throb, bleed; unattended, will heal badly. Fester. With H, Jimmy can see himself inside the box, but he doesn’t have to feel it. 

Every pound Jimmy sheds seems to make Robert’s gold brighter, denser. His body broader, the boy way behind, this big, grown man emerging. Jimmy evanescent, slowly fading into thin air, Robert heavier, opaque. He's unreadable. Unknowable. Black waters. A cynical edge. Outside looking in. 

He never really came back. Not really.

Jimmy discovers an entirely new kind of loneliness. He'd thought he'd known the worst kinds there could possibly be - he had no idea. He’s choking in it.

He looks at Robert who is not there. He begs. _Hate me. Blame me. Let me be someone in this. Let me have some part in it. I’ll take it to the grave with me, so you’ll be rid of it. I can do that for you. My parting gift to you. To you all. Her. Just fucking hate me._

So much easier, wouldn’t it? A pain you can be certain of, know its taste, its limits, its whats and hows. But instead, he must wander in this twilight he’s lost in, all that fog. His and yours. Guilt and anger and regret and loss. What is Jimmy even allowed to feel? What would someone who was not a monster feel? Does he have a right to yearn? Does he have a right to mourn for what he has lost? What’s the right thing to feel? Please, oh please. Someone tell him and he’ll do it. He’ll try. He’ll do it. 

Robert’s not there and Jimmy’s lost in the fog. And he just. He's choking in it. He's choking. He can't keep. He can't. It's unbearable. There's no end to this. He doesn’t want to see the end of this. He can't do it.

"Don’t do this to him."

Stupid, selfish boy. Make you feel better, wouldn’t it? —Well, you don’t get to feel better. That’s your sentence. You live on, you pretend all is well, you go on without him. You smile back to his empty smiles. You accept this light that now burns cold. You conjure up the music he needs, if it fucking kills you, until he accepts there's nothing left, and starts seeking somewhere else. Until he finds it and walks away. You stick it out for as long as it takes. Until all his love is gone.

Until that time, months or years, that’s the one thing you can do for him. You don’t get to become another burden. You endure it. You stick it out. 

And when he’s far, far away. Out of reach, out of sight. When he’s moved on. Then you may go. Then you may rest. 

_____________________

  
  


You really don’t know him. You don’t bloody know him at all. How could you get it so wrong. He’s kissing you so sweetly, so tenderly, like something precious, and fragile, and his own. Holding you like you might break. And you are. You’re breaking.

He’s kissing you like it does _him_ good. Like _he_ needed it. He touches you with questing deliberation, figuring you out again. You look like a fucking wreck and you know it. You stay quite still, between fight and flight. _Don’t look at me — oh, see me, see me as I am, and love me anyway._

You must be broken, off your head. You seek him out. _Hold me, please, I’m afraid. I’m not a good man. It hurts. I can’t help it. I swear I didn’t mean it. I wanted to love you well. This is all I got. Please take it. Please forgive me. God, please, please, hold me._

He wraps you in his arms and speaks your name like you’re a foolish little boy. Keeps you held tight and rocks you gently. 

You’re weeping. _The bloody nerve._ But he’s not angry. He hushes you. _(Silly boy, silly boy. How could you even think, for one moment... Darling silly boy.)_ Rocking together.

He doesn’t cry. He holds you. 

_How dare you. How dare you! You should be the one comforting him. Useless, pathetic. You just take and take and take. Give fuck all back. Selfish. Nothing here. Nothing worth giving. They’re all right about you. They see you as you are. He’s the only one you’re fooling. You have to tell him. Taking comfort in him? How dare you, monster!_

Even this is hard: let him cradle you and hold you and love you. Let him keep you alive. Stay. Here. For him. Lord, it’s so hard. - _Robert, I’m breaking, it hurts all the time, shards of me so small but they keep breaking, shattering..._

He kisses you and he rocks you and your name on his lips is precious and cherished and it tastes like the sun where it warms the earth.

He _needed_ this. Can’t you feel it. He wanted this back. He needs this. He wants you to feel it.

In his arms, you think maybe, just maybe, you’re not just the rush, the thrill, the glory and riches. Maybe you’re not just the Carnival king.

The dream vanished, but you two remained. Holding on.

This is a new country, a new place. You’re a stranger here. So is he. He holds your hand. He kisses you. He holds you. He wipes your tears away. He says your name. And you wake up and find you’ve become a real boy at last.

**Author's Note:**

> One of the very first things I learned when starting to dip my feet in the LZ lore and fandom is that Jimmy Page is an asshole. When I asked for reasons, Lori Maddox was one, and "he missed Karac's funeral" was the other. 
> 
> He missed the funeral?? (says I, shocked.) Why??? -- "Because he's an asshole."
> 
> So I expected to meet an asshole, and I expected lots of in-fighting and ego battles and rivalry and bitchiness between band leader and frontman, because it followed, if said leader was an asshole. 
> 
> I found none of that. Instead, I learned that he and Robert may be bitchy and snippy and childish and behave embarrassingly poorly around each other (it's appears to be mostly jealousy, not rivalry) but they care one hell of a lot. And they are people who care deeply about stuff - don't sell out, don't make deals where convenience comes before the heart. Through ups and downs, they remain friendly, when they were not acting mutually loving and devoted.
> 
> What I'm getting at here is, I have no idea why would Robert Plant would invest so much of himself if Jimmy was such an asshole. 
> 
> What is more: H or no H, Jimmy never missed a gig. He could appear clearly sick and an absolute wreck on stage for a bazillion people, but couldn't show his face at the funeral, where he could have been more covered and protected, and his state better understood? - (probably just gone by unremarked. It was a funeral after all. We wouldn't be talking about it today, probably, even if he'd shown up high off his head. That's not as bad as not showing up at all.)
> 
> And wasn't there anyone around with half a brain, aware of the damage it would do to J's reputation and, by extension, the band? -- Yes there fucking was. Someone who always did what needed to be done to protect his boys, fiercely and ruthlessly. And he just stood and watched while Jimmy went and screwed himself up so badly it's still echoing and haunting his name decades later?? This was not just an asshole move. This is next level.
> 
> So why the hell did Jimmy miss the funeral? 
> 
> And again, how the hell could Robert forgive him? (Them!) Only months later (not years, MONTHS) unbelievably, he was back with those cold heartless bandmates who couldn't be bothered to show at the funeral of his son??? Spend half his life on the road and try to open his heart again with that couple of cold uncaring bastards?? Why?? For the money? For the glory?? Robert Plant?? Are you fricking kidding me???? And HOW?? How to even try to open and pour your heart out again to make music, the most sacred thing there is for him?? With these two assholes???
> 
> \-- And there wasn't any lingering resentment, any coldness or ill-will?? Is Robert Plant a fucking robot??? -- Alright, you know what? Robert does operate under his own laws. Maybe he loved Jimmy so much, and understood what a terrible thing H is, that he just forgave it all. (He didn't love Jonesy so much, btw.) But, John Bonham?? How the hell did John Bonham understand and forgive something like that? How did he act as if nothing had happened?? Not just professional, but just, you know, normal??
> 
> This was a family. It would have ripped any other band apart. They fall apart for much less. But instead. 
> 
> Nothing makes any bloody sense. Nobody is acting in character. What the hell is going on here??
> 
> It was doing my head in, and then one day it occurred to me: You can't have "the other woman" at your child's funeral. Regardless of whatever understanding you have with your wife, what domestic arrangement you live by, this is a time to respect and adhere to the basic social conventions people will be examining to judge how much you respect your wife and your family, and hers. It's a time to be proper, for her sake. And if not that, you will be examining /yourself/. You're trying to focus on your family and do right by them at least in this one terrible thing, seeing as for the last ten years you've spent more time away than at home, and missed so much. At this time, you have to be a husband and a father, and that's that.
> 
> Of course, if Robert asked, there would have been no betrayal. And so, there would be nothing to forgive, and no obstacle to rejoin the band when he was ready. 
> 
> And if Jimmy wasn't simply being an asshole who couldn't get his shit together at this one crucial time, I understand more why JPJ would put his neck on the line to spare Jimmy from some of the shit he was going to get for it. Would he do that to himself for a colossal asshole??
> 
> And I can understand too John Bonham forgiving them both, and the band pulling together as one to keep going, like a family. It's more plausible than "Jimmy is an asshole, Capricorns are cold bastards, and everybody else was just sort of alright with that."
> 
> Oh well. Life doesn't have to make sense. People are not characters and do OOC things all the time. And this was just a tale about grief.


End file.
